


Here there be dragons; let me help you fight them

by crushing83



Series: Bullets and Blades [5]
Category: Fast and the Furious Series, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bard is reincarnated, Bard lives many lives, Elvish Medicine, M/M, Modern AU, Owen having strange dreams, Reincarnation, Thranduil considering a life of crime, happens a few of years before Fast & Furious 6, poor use of elvish, pre-Furious 6, somehow Thranduil finds him every time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 13:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4350527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crushing83/pseuds/crushing83
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Owen has been having vivid dreams. Thranduil thinks he is remembering his original life and wants to stay close, in case the memories cause any harm while Owen is working. This want increases when Owen returns injured from a job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here there be dragons; let me help you fight them

Thranduil startled when Owen twitched in his sleep. He lifted his head and looked around, trying to find if there was an external disturbance that unsettled his mortal lover. 

When he couldn't find anything around Owen's private home to explain why Owen's sleep wasn't restful, he sat up and put a hand on the man's chest. Owen muttered something unintelligible in his sleep and tossed his head from side to side. 

"Owen," Thranduil murmured, "Owen, wake up. It's just a dream." 

After a wordless cry and a full body flinch, Owen came awake. He sat up, looking wildly around the room, before seeing Thranduil and calming down significantly. 

"Hey," the elf murmured. He slid his hand up and rubbed it along the side of Owen's face. "You're alright." 

Not for the first time, Thranduil wondered about the toll of his line of work (and of doing it alone). Over the past few months, he watched Owen carefully when they were together, to discern how his trips and endeavors had gone, but he really didn't know if one was more dangerous than another unless he came back injured in some way. 

The dreams weren't a new occurrence. They seemed to be strongest on the first night of Owen's returns---a night he pretty much always sought out the elf to reconnect. Thranduil tried to get him to talk about the dreams, but Owen was close-lipped on the subject. He told Thranduil he didn't put much stock in dream analysis and they should leave it alone. The elf obeyed, but each time Owen woke up in such a tense state, it was harder to heed the man's advice. 

Owen relaxed and he pressed a kiss into Thranduil's hand. 

"Thanks, love," he whispered. 

The elf leaned in towards him. He pressed a kiss to his forehead. Owen responded by wrapping an arm around Thranduil's waist and pulling him closer. 

"They're getting more vivid," Thranduil commented. He kissed Owen's temple. "Tell me what happened." 

"There was a dragon," Owen said quietly. 

Thranduil gaped in surprise. "On your last job? Really? They haven't been around for---"

Owen cut him off with a rough laugh. "No, in my dream," he murmured, amusement laced through his voice. He chuckled into Thranduil's hair. "God, you're funny." 

The elf smiled and hugged him back. 

He did not think his sense of humour was that great, but since Owen did not know dragons had actually been real, he decided not to protest the man's opinion. 

"So, there was a dragon in your dream," he said quietly. "What was it doing?" 

"Burning a village on a lake," Owen replied. He sighed. "It was awful, like something out of my combat memories, but worse. The smell... the screams. There was no safe haven." 

Thranduil tried not to show any surprise as he described what sounded like Esgaroth's fate after Smaug had been awakened by the dwarves, but it was very difficult. He rubbed a hand over Owen's chest and did his best to look interested and sympathetic. 

"I've had dreams like this before, as a lad, but nothing so vivid," Owen admitted. "I used to love fairy tales. Got into quite a few fights because kids at school made fun of me for reading them." 

The elf smiled. "And you showed them who's boss?" 

Owen laughed. "Sometimes. Sometimes Deckard would have to step in. He definitely showed them who's boss if I couldn't. We were two scrappy kids from a mining town in South Wales, we'd take anyone on if they looked at us funny." 

Thranduil chuckled at the image and snuggled into the man holding him. "What happened in the dream?" he asked, even though he had a fairly good idea of what came next. He hadn't been there, but he heard all sorts of accounts of how Bard had faced down Smaug and defeated him. 

"I shot the dragon. With a bow and arrow." 

"Is that how the dream usually went in your dreams as a boy?" 

Owen shrugged. "I would wake up before it got to that point." 

"So you finally saved the village from the bad dragon," Thranduil murmured. He pushed aside his shock and focused on being the man Owen thought he was. "My hero." 

The man laughed. "I guess so," he commented. 

The elf nuzzled his nose against Owen's, smiling when he made him smile again. "Think you can sleep some more?" 

Owen nodded. Thranduil guided the man back down into a reclining position against the pillows. 

"Stay close?" Owen asked quietly into the darkness. 

Thranduil put his hand over Owen's chest. "Of course I will," he whispered. "Leave the dragon slaying to me for the rest of the night."

Owen gave him another little laugh. He reached down and hitched Thranduil's thigh up and over his hip. As he brushed his hand over the smooth skin of the elf's leg, Thranduil made a quiet noise of pleasure and snuggled in closer. 

He tried not to think about what Owen would dream the next time he returned from a business trip. 

&&&&&

Owen's dreams seemed focused on (what Thranduil was guessing was) Smaug for the rest of the week. He recalled details that the elf knew from witness accounts and from his own memory of the events leading up to the battle at Erebor; he recalled details that could not have simply come to him in a dream. 

No other reincarnation of Bard seemed to have such dreams; if they had, they'd never mentioned it. The dreams made Thranduil nervous. He wasn't sure what it meant, something so strange and different than the usual routine, and he was afraid it would affect Owen's day to day business. 

He brought up the idea of accompanying him on his next trip. He tried to do it casually, as if he were wanting to avoid missing and worrying about the man, but Owen insisted he would prefer to keep business and pleasure separate. 

"Maybe it's selfish, but I like knowing you're here waiting for me," he said. He reached out and pulled Thranduil into his lap; the elf went without resistance. "I want to keep you safe." 

Thranduil pouted, but Owen would not have his mind changed. It was as close as they'd come to fighting since they'd gotten together; the elf did not care to bring them into a full-blown argument so soon into their relationship, so he dropped the matter. 

The dreams lessened in quantity and intensity. Thranduil had been fascinated (aside from worried) about them, but he'd been relieved when they didn't happen as often. Owen was preparing for a trip; he was glad he wouldn't be plagued by memories (dreams), at the same time. 

He was away more, meeting with his team, planning travel arrangements, and nailing down finer points of whatever mission he was preparing. 

But, he always returned to Thranduil when he could. 

That fact was what the elf held dear when Owen was away. He would return as soon as it were possible. He just had to wait for that moment, and then he would see Owen again. 

Reminding himself of that didn't help with his worry, though. 

&&&&&

Owen had been gone for two weeks without contact. Thranduil wasn't sure what he could do, but he was itching to do something. He went through the motions of teaching his classes, going to the pub, and everything else he (as Kendall) normally did, in case anyone was watching him or looking to make contact. 

Everywhere he went, he was on the lookout for Owen---and the people he'd glimpsed from Owen's personnel files when the mercenary brought his work home with him. 

But, there was no one to see. 

And then, one night while he was going through his ritual of combing and braiding his hair, he heard a soft knock on the door to his apartment. 

He grabbed the knife from his discarded boot and went to the door. 

"Who is it?" 

"Elf, love, it's me." 

Thranduil tucked the knife in his belt and unlocked the door. Owen was leaning against the doorframe. He looked pale and tired, but he was smiling. 

"Get in," the blond said quietly. 

When Owen was inside and the door was bolted shut, he set his knife on the nearby bookshelf. He looked Owen over, holding his ground; when the man took a step towards him, he caved and hurried into him for a hug. 

"You had me so worr---"

"I know, I'm sorry," he whispered into Thranduil's hair. 

"What happened?" 

Owen sighed. "The person I was meeting had problems he'd neglected to tell me about," he explained. "My travel plans got scuttled and it took some time and some creative problem solving to get away." 

"Are you injured?" 

"I'm fine. Vegh stitched me up." 

Thranduil pulled back and out of Owen's reassuring arms. "Where?" 

"Thran..."

"Show me," the elf insisted. "I am not going to go to pieces. But, I need to see." 

Before Owen could protest any more, Thranduil was dragging him further into the apartment and into the kitchen. He went to his cupboard where he kept various dried herbs and salves---another way he could keep his elvish traditions alive, even though he rarely used them---and rummaged for what he needed. 

"What are you doing?" Owen asked, sounding more amused than anything else. 

"I am going to make you a cup of tea," he said as he put several small packages on his countertop and turned on his kettle. "You are going to drink it. You are going to show me your injury and then we are going to bed." 

He left out the part of his plan that involved using a bit of his own magic to help Owen's healing along. He also left out the part of his plan that involved sedating Owen through the tea's ingredients so he could have some unobserved, uninterrupted time to use his magic. 

"What are you putting in it?" he asked as he watched Thranduil crumble some dried plants into a small teapot. 

"Herbs and rooibos. It's a blend that is supposed to help with pain relief," Thranduil explained. 

He didn't get into details, because he didn't want to explain that he'd added valerian root and a couple other ingredients that were natural sedatives. Explicitly lying around Owen was a bad idea, but he had a feeling that confessing that he was (naturally) drugging the man would be an even worse idea. 

His intentions assuaged his guilt, though, and he poured the nearly-boiling water into the pot when it was at the desired temperature. 

"I knew you liked tea, but I didn't know you..." Owen trailed off and waved his hand around. "Believed in holistic medicine." 

Thranduil snorted. "I'm a practical man," he said, unsure if it were a lie. "I've had to depend on nature for survival more than once. I'd be a fool to turn my back on those experiences. And if it helps, what difference does it make if it's not sanctioned by a field medic?" 

Owen shrugged. Thranduil smiled at him. He walked around the counter and kissed his lips. 

"What's that for?" the dark-haired man asked quietly. 

"Coming home," Thranduil murmured. A calm had settled over him---part of it because he had a plan, part of it because Owen was in front of him, seemingly fine despite his injury. He kissed him again and then said: "Go get ready for bed."

"What about---"

"I'll look at it in there. I'll bring the tea when it's ready," he interrupted gently. "Go get comfortable." 

When he was alone, he went to the living room and to the bookshelf that hid his memories. One book held letters to and from Michael, but another held some of the athelas he'd been cultivating near his secret home. Any time he found some on his eternally-long journey, he would pick a few stems to dry and then he would transplant one or two of the growths to a pot; when he returned to his private, isolated residence, wherever it was in that time, he would plant it in his ever-growing garden or his window boxes, some place to keep it safe. Not all of the plants flourished; the elf was still able to maintain a decent-sized crop of it. It was a delicate herb, but it had a hardy spirit and did not mind being left alone for years at a time. 

The plant had been dried, but its healing properties (he'd learned from experience) were still potent in that form. He rarely used it, because its effects would be hard to explain, but he was hoping he could avoid explanations if Owen were sound asleep. 

He made a paste with some filtered water and ground-up leaves. By then, the tea was ready; he poured two mugs (although he had no intention of drinking it until he was finished healing Owen's wound) and carried them into the bedroom. 

The man was sitting on the bed in his boxers. His clothes were folded on the armchair by the window and his boots were on the floor next to the chair. He was slowly peeling away the tape and gauze from his left side. 

"We'll have to get back to those sword lessons," he said quietly. 

Thranduil frowned. "You were sword-fighting with street thugs?" 

Owen chuckled. "No, but I'd like it if my reactions were faster." 

"You're human, it happens," the elf said, more to remind himself than for any other reason. "Here," he added. He passed the man one of the mugs and set the other on the bedside table. "Drink. It will help." 

"If you say so." 

"I do." 

The elf knelt down in front of Owen and eased the tape away from his skin. A red line, stitched with blue fibre, looked back at him. 

"We'll start up again with those lessons when you heal," Thranduil murmured. He brushed his fingers over the skin around the wound. "Is it deep?" 

"No," Owen replied. "Just enough to bleed too much." 

He brought the mug up to his lips. The elf watched him drink the tea. He relaxed internally when the man smiled. 

"It's good," Owen admitted. 

"Afraid it was going to taste like dirt?" 

The man laughed quietly. "Maybe." 

Thranduil laughed, too. He leaned in and kissed Owen's knee. Owen brought his free hand up to smooth over the back of Thranduil's head. 

"I'm very glad you're okay," he whispered. 

Owen hummed quietly, in wordless response. 

"I don't like the idea of you being hurt," the elf confessed. "I wish I had been there to protect you." 

Owen gently guided his head up with a steady hand under his chin. He was smiling when the elf looked upon him. "Are you going to accompany me everywhere, acting as my personal bodyguard?" 

"Maybe I should so I do not have to keep worrying about you!" Thranduil exclaimed. "I would feel better if I were with you! I could keep you safe!" 

"First," Owen said as he released Thranduil's chin and took his hands. "I am perfectly capable of keeping myself as safe as I can be in my line of work." He paused and tugged; Thranduil rose to a standing position, to turn and sit next to Owen on the bed. "Second, how can you guard someone you're involved with? Sounds like a conflict of interest to me." 

"Sounds like motivation to me," Thranduil countered. 

"You think?" 

The elf nodded. He'd never been more ferocious than when protecting those he loved and his kingdom. He knew Owen made a valuable point, but most bodyguards did not have his keen senses or abilities. Even if he were caught up in Owen's presence, he would still have a leg up on other men if they were lucky enough to be in his position. 

"Can Kendall Monroe give up being an archery instructor?" Owen asked after a sip of tea. 

"Not immediately," the elf replied. "I can take off a night here and there for now. The summer hiatus is coming up, though, and then I can be available after that for longer jobs." 

Owen smiled. "You really want this?" 

"I want to keep you safe." 

"Thran, doing this would mean I'll have a harder time keeping you safe," Owen reminded him. 

"Or, it would give you another piece on whatever board you're playing," Thranduil replied. "I can keep myself safe. Depending on how I'm introduced, or not, I could be useful." 

Owen seemed to be considering his words. He took another few drinks of his tea. When the mug was nearly empty, he set it down and hugged Thranduil close. 

"Any enemies would know you're important to me." 

"If they see me." 

Owen chuckled. "My medieval sniper? In a perch with his bow and arrows?" 

"Isn't that what you were planning on hiring me for, anyway?" 

"Yeah, but then I got to know you a bit more... personally," he whispered while trying to pull the elf into his lap. 

"Not until you heal." 

"Thran." 

The blond kissed his lover. "Nope, you can't tempt me tonight." He patted Owen's thigh. "Lie back, get under the covers, and I'll join you in a few minutes." 

"I came here to tempt you." 

"Then you should have considered waiting until you healed." 

"If I waited that long, you'd punish me by withholding sex for a long time." 

"I never punish by withholding sex," Thranduil assured him. "I might punish you with it, though." 

Owen chuckled. "You threatening to tie me up if I misbehave?" 

"And not let you get off for a very long time," the elf replied. He smirked. "Or I could go the other way. How many orgasms is too many before you're begging me to stop?" 

"It'd never happen." 

"Never say never." 

Owen let out a soft laugh before he kissed Thranduil's shoulder. "Alright. Go get undressed. I'll warm up the bed." 

Thranduil stole a quick kiss from Owen's lips before ducking out of the bedroom. He grabbed the paste he made and a few washcloths from the linen cupboard; then, he turned off the lights in the main living areas and made his way back to the bathroom. 

A quick peek through the doorway shared with the bedroom showed him that Owen was settling down on the bed, under the duvet and sheets. He decided to leave the athelas by the sink until the man was asleep; he brushed his teeth, washed his face, tugged off his clothes, and then returned to Owen. 

"You are lovely," Owen whispered. 

Thranduil smiled. He climbed onto the bed and settled down, under the covers and against the man's side. He put his hand on Owen's chest, mindful of the man's wound, and exhaled slowly. 

"I am very glad you came home," Thranduil whispered. 

"I'm always going to come home," Owen said quietly in reply. 

Thranduil kissed his shoulder and closed his eyes. He exhaled slowly, softly, willing his body to relax as he kept his mind sharp. Owen did his best to lull Thranduil to sleep; he rubbed his hand along the elf's spine in a slow, soothing pattern and hummed a quiet tune under his breath. Normally, that would be enough to send Thranduil to dreamland, but he fought it as stealthily as he could. 

His efforts paid off after roughly twenty minutes. Owen gave a sleepy snore a few moments after his body relaxed even more. Thranduil smiled a little as he tipped his head up and watched Owen sleep. His mouth was lax and open. His brow was smoothed of any furrows caused by serious thought or pain. 

The elf tried to extricate himself from the bed, but was thwarted on his first attempt. Owen turned towards him and hooked a leg over both of his as he wrapped his arms around Thranduil's waist. He hummed sleepily and buried his face between the blond's shoulder blades. 

Thranduil sighed. Any other night, he would have been pleased with Owen's need to keep him close; however, he had things to do and he could not do them until he brought the athelas to the bed. 

He waited until Owen stilled and quieted before slowly trying again. The second attempt was much slower. He eased his hands into Owen's hands and them inched them off of his waist. He rolled out from under Owen's leg and them turned onto his other side to look at the sleeping man. 

"Shhh," he whispered. "I'll be right back." 

Owen smiled in his sleep. Thranduil leaned in and kissed his forehead. Then, he slipped off the bed. 

He returned with the healing paste and a couple cloths---one wet, one dry.  Owen had turned onto his back in his absence. Thranduil was relieved; Owen might have been made sleepier because of the tea, but the elf worried if he was prodded too much he'd wake up to find Thranduil standing over him with a strange goo in his hand. He might be able to explain away his actions, but he wasn't sure how Owen would react; he wanted to avoid that situation if at all possible. 

It didn't take long to settle down and apply the paste to Owen's wound. Once it was covered, he set the bowl aside and put his hands over the area. He chanted the magical words of his people; he closed his eyes and focused his power into his hands. He wasn't a healer, but he had enough of the gift for superficial wounds. 

He tried to heal Michael, but the tumours hadn't yielded to magic. 

Luckily, this time, he could sense the knife wound knitting together. 

He focused on the inside of the injury, only, because he didn't want Owen to notice how quickly he had healed. He'd started imagining telling Owen the truth---even more after Owen started dreaming about Bard's past---but he wasn't ready to confess yet. He hadn't figured out the best way to approach the truth and have Owen _calmly_ believe him.

When he felt he'd done all he could (and still avoid detection), he pulled his hands away from the wounded area and opened his eyes. Owen was still asleep, judging by his closed eyes and steady breathing. Thranduil picked up the wet cloth; slowly and meticulously, he wiped the area clean of the athelas paste.  

It would have been better to leave the paste in place, but it would have raised questions. 

Once the area was clean, he patted it dry with the other cloth. The stitched wound looked less red, less inflamed, and he felt relief at seeing its slight change in appearance.  

Then, he went to the bathroom to put both cloths in the hamper. After that, he went to the kitchen to clean the bowl. 

It wasn't until he was done that task that he felt a little unsteady. He managed to get himself into a seat at his small kitchen table; from there, he took several deep breaths. He hadn't used his elfish magic in a long time, he assumed it was that expenditure in combination with the stress of Owen being injured that left him feeling that way.  

Knowing what caused it didn't make the weakness any easier to bear. 

&&&&&

"Hey." 

He looked up at the sound of Owen's voice. He blushed. A quick glance at the wall clock told him he'd been sitting for a while. 

"Sorry," Thranduil murmured. "I couldn't sleep." 

"Neither could I," Owen replied. He smiled. "I got cold." 

He joined the elf at the table. He took Thranduil's hand and squeezed it. "I've been in tougher situations," he said quietly. "This is just a scratch." 

"I know," Thranduil said in response. He threaded his fingers together with Owen's and smiled a bit. "I have seen atrocities... I was a warr---a soldier once. I know what it is to be near death. But, perhaps, I had not fully wrapped my mind around how dangerous your life is." 

"Is it too much?" 

Thranduil shook his head. "No," he replied. At Owen's probing look, he shook his head again. "No, Owen, it is not too much. I will adjust." 

"What can I do to help?" 

"Come home alive," Thranduil replied. 

Owen brought their joined hands up to kiss the elf's knuckles. "Every chance I get," he promised. He smiled over their hands. "And, I will seriously think about bringing you along on smaller jobs." 

"You will?" 

He nodded. "If it helps you feel like you're doing something active to keep me safe," he stipulated. When Thranduil smiled, he smiled, too. "You're skilled. It would be a shame to see those skills go to waste."

"That would be good," the elf murmured. 

"You'll have to promise me something in return." 

"What?" 

"That you'll stay safe." 

"Owen..."

Owen smiled and shrugged. "It won't be easy, the two of us together---" 

"We will both do our best to keep each other safe," Thranduil interrupted. He squeezed Owen's hand. "You wanted me to work for you once. I think it was a good instinct." 

"Getting you in my bed was a better one," the man said with a slightly lecherous grin. When the elf laughed, Owen's grin softened into one of affection. "C'mon," he said quietly, "let's go back to sleep." 

Thranduil was relieved to find his legs much steadier since he sat down. He let Owen tug him out of the kitchen; he walked side by side with Owen the rest of the way. 

They got back into bed, pulling the duvet up to their chests as their bodies slotted together. Owen kissed Thranduil's forehead. The elf responded by kissing the valley of his collarbones. 

"Sweet dreams," the blond murmured. 

"You, too, love." 

**Author's Note:**

> I am trying to decide how much magic/supernatural to let into these stories. Part of me wants to go full out with it, and part of me wants to keep it as normal and "real world" as possible. Thoughts? 
> 
> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> (Oh! And I finally decided to give in and start a tumblr. I have no idea what I'm doing there, but you can find me @ crushing83 if you're interested.)


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